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He Came in the Night	By : witch Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 7736 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-He Came in the Night
- 1
This story was written for the Hermione Pick a Pairing From a Hat! challenge over at GE (Granger Enchanted) for the celebration of Hermione's birthday, which was on the 18th of September. What I got was a Hermione/Severus pairing (it's Fate!) and the song "Love is a Drug" by Eskimo Joe.

Note: it wasn't supposed to be a songfic, but more of a story inspired by the lyrics... and after rereading those lyrics for like twenty times, that's what I came up with!

Enjoy!

Special thanks go to my amazing beta Liongirl11!

He Came in the Night

Looking back, she couldn't pinpoint what exactly caused her eyes to fly wide open that night.

But whatever disturbance Hermione's subconscious detected that dreary September night, it brought her awake in an instant. Lying perfectly still on her silk sheets—a secret indulgence—she strained to hear a hint of something foreign. Nothing. That fact, however, did not relax her in the slightest.

Her body now on full alert, the witch cautiously slid off the bed. Judging by the pitch-black darkness surrounding her, it was still hours from sunrise. Great. She was all by herself, in the middle of the night, and in the company of a possible intruder with a malevolent motive. The situation brought the meaning of "bad luck" to a whole new level with the fact that it was just the day after she had finally coerced herself into sending her wand in for a much-needed polish and repair routine. Peachy.

Cursing every deity of fortune and luck her mind could come up with, Hermione trailed out of the bedroom, her bare feet soundless against the wooden floorboards. Her eyes frantically tried to detect anything unusual in the darkness of her living room, but all to no avail. Even the random creaking sounds and smells of the now-familiar flat were the same. At first glance, everything was as it was supposed to be. But Hermione knew better. The fine hairs on her arms practically stood on end with the inexplicable knowledge that she wasn't alone.

With her heart in her throat, she fought the impulse to call out like the last ninny. As a child, she had always scoffed at the scenes in Muggle horror movies where the heroine dramatically screamed out her exact location to her soon-to-be-murderer with the ludicrous query, "Is anyone there?"

Well, she most certainly wasn't scoffing now.

She was just contemplating whether she could get away with Flooing for help when someone's hand landed on her shoulder.

Hermione's instincts kicked in without a single thought.

She struck first. The precise impact of her sharp elbow was met with a low, painful groan. Ah, a man then, she noted. But there was no time for further observations. The faceless attacker recovered unpredictably quickly. Hermione became aware of it too late—the strike at her leg the next moment was strong enough to cause her to emit a hiss of pain.

Damn it, she thought angrily. She hadn't gotten through everything that had happened just to end up becoming a punch bug to some arse.

Closing her eyes, she forced her running mind to relax. "The Mode," she used to call it. To be more precise, a rapid transition into a state of being that channeled her energy into one particular source—combat. Not a moment later, she felt something inside of her click. She was ready.

The two figures crashed into each other. Whilst Hermione's body moved on its own, dodging and striking with the flare of a battle veteran, her opponent did not fall behind an inch. He met her every step of the way, with a precision that made their dance one of deadly synchronization. His movements were as flawless as they were soundless. The strikes, however, were not aimed to maim. Instead, she had to focus all of her senses on not being struck down by the sheer force of the impacts.

At some point it became clear what his plan was all along.

Grinding her teeth in irritation, the witch mentally calculated the distance between the wall that was now dangerously close behind her. Refusing to be cornered like an animal, she feinted to her left, blindly reaching out with her right hand in an attempt to interchange their places and finish him off.

That was precisely what he had been waiting for.

The world spun around. In the next moment, she was slammed against the wall of her living room with enough force to leave her momentarily winded. And with her right hand pulled behind her, she found herself absolutely defenseless.

“I see the end of the Great War did not diminish your instincts. But you appear to be out of practice,” drawled an all too-familiar voice above her ear.

No, it couldn’t be.

“How–”

“When will you finally learn,” he interrupted smoothly, “that in situations like these, I always was and will continue to be the one in control?” As if to prove his point, the hand holding her wrists together tightened in a clear reminder of just how easily he could crush the delicate bones. If he but wished it.

Unable to come up with a single intelligent retort, Hermione held her silence. Sensing her struggle, he moved in closer, just enough for his breath to caress her bed-tousled curls. The unexpected sensation prompted her heart to start racing away. She could only close her eyes at the pleasurable despair of it all.

“I saw you at the station that day, did you know that?” he said in a low voice. “Watching you from the shadows, I couldn’t help but be fascinated by the connection a mother can share with her children. I never had that, you see. The love of a mother, a branch of magic on its own. And as for love of another kind...”

He inhaled deeply, as if trying to imprint the smell of her hair and skin into his memory for all eternity.

“The love of a simple man will never be enough for you. Especially from a Weasley.”

Oh no, he didn’t. Uncontrollable feelings or not, she wasn’t going to let him ridicule her family.

Without a single thought for the possible repercussions her next move might bring, the witch flung her head backwards sharply. However, her potential victim appeared to have the talent to foresee all harm aimed towards him.

Once again, her world became one big blur. When everything around her finally stabilized, this time around, she found herself lying with her back on the floor. Grabbing the moment of fleeting freedom, she attempted to kick back upon her feet. Unfortunately, her reprieve was brief.

Just as she was about to stand up, she landed back where she started with a grunt, a heavy weight now on top of her. Her hands were swiftly locked above her head, legs pressed firmly into the wooden floor by a pair of strong thighs.

“Get off me!” she cried indignantly. Attempts to buck the weight off her with her hips came to naught. The sole thing it accomplished was to bring every contour of the man's body acutely closer against hers.

“Tsk tsk,” he admonished her mockingly. Though she could barely see anything beyond her nose, she felt his gaze upon her like a physical caress—right up to the point where she could identify the exact path his eyes were tracing, as if her body was burning in their wake.

In fact, her whole skin was rapidly becoming hot and damp. Even with both of her arms held forcefully above her head, she barely paid attention to the discomfort. Beyond the window somewhere close to her, a cloud let a stray beam of moonlight into the room. All of her focus was upon the looming shadow above her. Her breath caught as she suddenly found herself staring into eyes the colour of unadulterated obsidian.

"Tell me," he murmured, inches from her lips, "how long can one survive knowing that their life is unfulfilled?"

His smell was all around her, a combination of spices and mint. Head swimming, she did all she could not to succumb to the irrational wave of euphoria that was steadily consuming her.

Though no answer was apparently expected from her, his voice was filled with harsh displeasure when he spoke next.

"I couldn't stand by any longer and watch how a perfectly adequate witch is wasting herself away to nothing," he barked with a scowl. "A know-it-all you always were, but I've never taken you for a fool. It is time for you to begin learning how to put your own wants and needs before everybody else's for a change."

"I won't be discussing this with you anymore," she finally forced out, her chest rising up and down beneath his. "All I had to say was said long ago."

"Then don't. Actually, I would very much prefer to finally force something into your stubborn, thick-headed skull myself."

Before she had time to gasp, his mouth was already on hers. There was nothing remotely gentle or romantic about it. The harsh lips against her own mutely demanded her absolute submission, in every shape and form. Vaguely, she was aware of the metallic taste that filled her mouth from where he nipped her bottom lip. But that was a mere trifling thought. With his taste on her tongue and his smell around her, Hermione found herself reaching heights of exhilaration she had never believed possible.

She was intoxicated.

Releasing her mouth as swiftly as he had taken possession of it, the wizard gave her a gaze of such intensity that she momentarily forgot how to breathe.

"Desire..." he pronounced softly, his eyes scrutinizing the droplet of blood decorating her lip, "that's what you've been missing all this time. Love and lust must walk hand-in-hand, for one without the other is but half the deal. And it looks like by the time you realised one of those factors was missing, it was already too late."

Hermione swallowed. She still remembered that time as if it was yesterday. At first, she had thought that the special closeness, the passion, she saw in the everyday life of Harry and Ginny would come in time. Wait for it, she kept telling herself. She and Ron had been best friends for far too long to just get rid of that hint of awkwardness that crept up every time they kissed, touched... Oh, but what a naïve girl she had been. By the time Rose turned three, she had known that they would never have that kind of bond. But before she had had the chance to come to a rational decision, she discovered a developing surprise that was later named Hugo. And then it really was too late.

"I... I love Ron," she stammered. "I really do. He's my husband."

The protest sounded pathetic even to her. But he spoke out loud the words she hadn't dared to ponder for many years now; and so close to the truth they were that it was practically painful.

She was granted a look of annoyed exasperation. "Your talent for emotional self-harm is making even your children suffer. And I'm not even talking about Weasley here—no, hear me for once!" he demanded with such pleading vehemence that it brought Hermione's mouth shut with a click.

"Do not think them blind to what you think you're hiding? Even Ronald Weasley understood that something wasn't exactly right between the two of you years ago; the only reason he left things as they were was because of how young your children were. However, he also foolishly believed that you were still very much impassioned with him...which, of course, proves what an utter idiot he is. But, he didn't want to leave you out of fear of breaking your heart. The lack of emotional communication between the two of you is the only thing that brought you to this ridiculous situation. And as for your children, they wish only happiness for both of their parents—whatever you decide."

"How do you know all of this?" she asked in disbelief.

His thin lips stretched into an evasive smirk. "I have my ways."

Thinking furiously, Hermione attempted to recall every instance that might have indicated the absolute truth behind the infuriating wizard's words. What she came up with was discouraging at its utmost best. Had she really been such a blind fool all this time?

But even if all that had been said was true, she still had to take into account the life she lived at present. Even though it had been her decision to lease a flat beside Hyde Park just for herself—for a "break," as she called it—the idea of making it long-term made her nervous. The mere idea of losing either Hugo or Rose was agonizing. As for herself, she would be alone once more, a nearly forty-year-old divorcée with a pile of broken and unrealized expectations for company.

It didn't take long for Hermione to convert her dejection into righteous anger. And she had the most perfect object for target practice.

"Is this some sort of trick?" she countered, suspicion written all over her face. "A twisted revenge plot for all the offense you think I've given you during those seven years? For setting you on fire back when I was eleven, perhaps? Need I remind you that I did do one thing in particular which somewhat weighs everything back into my favour? And what's with the attack mode anyway? Whatever it is, I'm sure the Healers at St. Mungo's would be quite delighted to finally have you as their patient."

The wizard arched his eyebrow. "My, my... aren't we full of questions today?”

Her glare had no other effect than to make him seem even more maliciously delighted.

“However, considering the situation,” he allowed a heartbeat later, “I shall oblige you with some answers. First of all, it’s you who attacked me first. The gesture of putting one's hand on another's shoulder isn’t constituted as a sign of homicidal tendencies, is it? And as for the rest…well, it's quite simple really."

All of a sudden his lips were close enough to brush lightly against hers with his next words.

"I know the way you look at me, Hermione, the way you feel. Both your love and desire for me... for that's exactly the same way I look at you."

If she had been frightened before, it was nothing compared to the sheer terror that hit her right then. Hermione simply lay with her mouth in the shape of a surprised "o" before panic finally kicked in.

Gathering all of her strength, she attempted to push him off with the lower part of her body, but the wizard was relentless. He stoically prevented her from making any substantial progress by merely using the advantage of his heavier body mass on top of hers. Frustrated, the witch gritted her teeth and gave one last desperate attempt at dislodging the arrogant arsehole by kicking off the floor with both of her legs.

Looking from a positive perspective, she did manage to free both of her arms from his grip. However, she also inadvertently put herself in a position she most definitely hadn't planned on seeing herself in the foreseeable future.

Lying squarely on her back, with the one and only Severus Snape nestled snugly in between her wide-spread legs was most certainly not part of the plan.

“Mmm…isn’t this cosy?”

Before she had the chance to utter something spiteful, his hips shifted. All rational thought drained into nothingness at the sensation of him brushing against her in the most intimate way possible. Wearing nothing but a pair of flimsy underwear beneath her nightgown, she felt everything acutely.

Gasping, every nerve ending in turmoil, Hermione's hips unconsciously made a barely detectable motion forwards. The wizard made an appreciative sound.

“Stop torturing yourself,” he breathed huskily into her mouth. “Just give in to me at last.”

She groaned something unintelligible. Without further ado, a strong hand took hold of her thigh and hooked it at his hip, deliberately opening her up to him. As he pressed forward, she felt the hardness pressing tantalizingly against her covered opening, right where it was throbbing the most.

Throwing her head back, the witch was unable to restrain the moan that fell from her half-parted lips. So often she had attempted to imagine what it would feel like, to surrender to her most carnal need. Fantasy held nothing to what reality offered.

Both hands were underneath her splayed thighs now, guiding her to move in tandem with his shallow thrusts. Pain and pleasure mixed together as he continued to grind his clothed erection against her core. For perhaps the first time in her life, Hermione finally understood what real passion had to offer and felt no shame in surrendering to it fully.

The fog lifted from her inflamed mind only when she felt fingers trace the edge of her panties.

“N-no…you have to…sto…oooh,” she moaned instead, her hands clutching his shoulders and contradicting what she wished to say at first. Cool air rushed towards her heated core as the triangular material was unceremoniously pushed aside for his pleasure.

“So wet for me,” he breathed with a groan, rubbing her opening and the moisture that was now leaking freely from it. With his wet fingers he spread her plump lips apart and promptly inserted his middle finger into her right up to his knuckle.

Hermione practically cried out at the pleasurable suddenness, her spine bowing into an arch.

“Yesss…” he hissed, intensely observing her every move. “Feel me. Feel what I am capable of giving you. You’ve been avoiding what has been developing between us for far too long.”

She was too far gone in the haze of lust to fully comprehend the words addressed to her. All she could clearly discern was the hypnotizing sound of his voice and the two fingers that were inside of her now, flexing and moving in and out of her.

“I couldn’t stop, even if I wished to. You’re not like any drug potion I’ve ever encountered; for them, at least, I’m able to brew an antidote. But with you, there’s only one other thing that has the potential to take both of us higher…”

Hermione mewled in disappointment when he retracted his hand, leaving her torturously empty. Encouraged by the sound of rustling clothing, she parted her legs further, completely surrendering to the inevitable.

His mouth crashed onto hers at the same time that he plunged the head of his cock into her. Another forceful push and his entire length was inside, his mouth drinking in her animalistic scream. He drank her in like a man dying of thirst, not for once losing his tempo. Moaning with every stroke, Hermione bit down on her already bleeding lip at the sensation of him inside of her, filling and stretching her to her limits. Bliss.

She tried to stretch the pleasure for as long as possible, but the fight was out of her hands. Too soon the pleasure roared down on her like an avalanche of pure ecstasy—indescribable. Flinging her head back, she let out a scream of total completion.

With his rigid length held still by her clenching muscles, the man’s face twisted with a mix of pain and pleasure. And still he persisted on, plowing through her tightness with gathering forcefulness. Like a man possessed, he picked up the speed of his thrusts until his hips were nearly a blur. With every other stroke he slowed down and gave her a particularly vicious thrust of his cock, making the witch beneath him move along the floor. Unable to emit any other sound but strangled gasps, Hermione had nothing else left to do but to wrap her arms around the wizard’s neck and hold on for dear life.

The witch felt but did not much care about the burns the wooden floor was scraping along her back as she was fucked along its surface. All she knew was pleasure and the renewing sense that something wonderful was about to happen once again.

The thrusts momentary halted, just enough for the wizard to forcefully grab her knees and bring them sharply forwards, practically to her own shoulders. Torturously slow, he drew out of her, before slamming back in at the new angle her position provided.

Hermione’s mouth dropped open and remained that way. If she had thought he was big before, it was nothing compared to what it felt like now. She could feel every pulsing vein along the length of his cock as it stretched her to new limits.

For some time the only thing reverberating along the room’s walls was the witch’s muffled moans and the slapping sound of flesh against flesh.

Soon, the wizard himself began to lose control. With heaving breaths, he delivered a couple of the deepest thrusts possible, which in turn generated a particularly high shriek from the witch. Placing his palms on either side of her head, he gazed at her from between his black locks.

“Look…at…me.”

At some point, the sun had risen high enough for the room to fill with light. Half-conscious, Hermione obeyed. Staring blearing into the face above her, she felt neither fear nor shame. There was only him.

“You’re mine, Hermione… Do you understand? Mine.”

The possessiveness within that mesmerising voice was her undoing. She came apart right underneath him whilst still staring into his eyes and thus allowing him to observe and master over her final capitulation. Only dimly was she aware of his release and the fingers that bit harshly into her soft thigh at the force of that pleasure.

Utterly spent, the couple finally collapsed beside each other right where they were.

Silence stretched for a long time before either of them brought their breathing back to normal. First to partially recover, Hermione turned towards the man beside her with a slight scowl.

“What did you grab me for, for Godric’s sake? You should know better! Isn’t it enough that I saved your hide back at the Shrieking Shack that night?”

He smirked. “And I am as thankful as I could possibly be. But I just couldn’t resist trying you out, even on a day like today. You might have lost the fine edges in the hand-to-hand combat I taught you, but you’re not a lost cause…yet.”

Suppressing the annoyance that, for some reason, only he had the talent for bringing out of her, Hermione thought back on his words and frowned.

“What about today?”

A sarcastically raised eyebrow was his sole response.

“And don’t you dare patronize me, Professor,” she growled in warning.

Her righteous annoyance, however, once again brought nothing but slight amusement from the aggravating man. Nevertheless, he reached into his robe pocket (which he had somehow managed to stay dressed in) and extended a roll of parchment toward her.

She accepted it tentatively, all the while furrowing her brows in confusion.

“We had an interesting conversation, Mr. Weasley and I,” he began to explain in a drawl. “It looks like he might not be as dim-witted as he appears to be… He has suspected our feelings towards each other for quite some time now—even when some of us were too pigheaded to accept those feelings themselves. To make things short: he finally saw what should have been done a long time ago. I even got his blessing, as well as your children’s apparently,” he added irritably, his scowl revealing just how much he did not care to have it, especially from an ex-student of his.

Hermione barely heard his last words. With shaking hands she broke the seal and unrolled the parchment across her knees.

What she stared down upon for the longest time was a simple signature she had never thought she would see. Subconsciously hope for, most certainly. But never look at it with her own two eyes.

“Severus, I–I…” she tried to say, but no coherent words were forthcoming. Once more she came to witness that not all Gryffindors were brave, and those who weren’t of that house had the courage to go all the way in order to get what they wanted…and to keep reaching those heights together.

Wordlessly, she let her fingertips trace the sharp angles of his face. He gave her a smile that spoke of so many things, things of which she was no longer afraid… and a smile which she knew was never ever seen by anyone but her.

“Happy Birthday, Miss Granger.”

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He Came in the Night